


Visitor

by kelly_chambliss



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/F, F/M, Threesome - F/M/M, alternate endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:59:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelly_chambliss/pseuds/kelly_chambliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kashyk designs a holoprogram for Janeway. You decide with whom they share it.</p><p>Written with Boadicea12 in October, 1999.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Visitor: Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Back in 1999, I fell in love with the character of Captain Kathryn Janeway of Star Trek: Voyager. On the day I did a web search of her name, I changed my life forever, because one of the hits I got was for something called "The JetC Index." It was fanfic, all sorts of fanfic, glorious fanfic, terrible fanfic, explicit fanfic. I was hooked. I read voraciously for some weeks and then finally decided to try my hand at writing a story of my own.
> 
> I ended up writing probably a couple dozen VOY fics between 1999 and 2002 or so, with another few written a bit later. All are Janeway-centric. The stories are scattered in various places, so I thought I might as well gather them all here at A03.
> 
> "Visitor" was written in collaboration with Boadicea12, my favorite VOY author and a far better writer than I. She wrote the beginning; I wrote the three "choose-your-own-ending" alternates.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"You're bored with me."

"Of course not. Did I seem bored?"

"Not exactly." She had to smile. They were on the floor of her living area, clothes strewn around them. They rarely made it to the bed. She remembered his request and stopped smiling. "So why do you want something, someone else?"

"I don't want "someone else"; I want you . . . on the holodeck. Your technology fascinates me. Not as much as you do, of course." His fingers trailed lightly down the dip of her waist. He smiled.

"Oh, of course not," she said dryly, but she found herself smiling again. And responding to his touch. She denied him access to most of the ship's systems, strictly limited the time they spent together. The last mostly because, after two months, she felt almost addicted to him. But it was hard to deny him anything in the little time they were together.

"All right, I'll go to the holodeck with you," she said. "I suppose it's going to be your program?"

"Absolutely," he said, his voice becoming muffled as he moved to kiss her neck.

 

Three days later she entered the holodeck at 20:00 hours. The program was running. She found herself in a house. It was clearly based on something from Earth, perhaps 19th century, but she thought that it had been altered somewhat. Perhaps there were Devoran touches.

She walked through a hall and into a large room. Kashyk was wearing some rather elegant but comfortable clothing which she hadn't seen before. He handed her a glass of champagne. 

"Good evening," he said. She felt herself start as their fingers touched during the transfer of the glass.

"Nice, Kashyk," she said, looking about the room. The ceiling was perhaps five meters high. Tall glass doors overlooked a stone terrace and a lawn. It was early evening in summer, the sky just beginning to darken. "Nice."

"Go upstairs," he said. "You need to change. The room above this one."

She walked up the stairs and entered the room. It also faced out over the lawn. There was a very large bed with white bedclothes. He followed her.

"So you _are_ interested in beds," she said.

"I'll try anything once," he joked. "But get dressed."

A woman in something plain and dark entered from another door. She was carrying a garment, which she lay on the bed. She did Janeway's hair and helped her dress. Kashyk leant against the door frame, watching and sipping champagne.

Janeway was surprised at the gentility of his program.

When the maid was finished, her hair was softly waved and formal and away from her face, and her dress was black velvet. They went downstairs.

He refilled their glasses. The French doors were open; the air was cooling, and smelled of grass and night. She longed to touch him again. Usually they were so impatient; the luxury of this was delightful. But frustrating.

Kashyk moved around the room, turning on the lights. The colors of the room looked warmer. She looked out at the dusky sky. And saw something else-- light glinting on a champagne glass, on blond hair. Someone was standing just outside.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Who is it? Choose your pleasure: 

Dancing and . . . Choose "Visitor: Dandy" (Chapter 2) 

 

Dinner and . . . Choose "Visitor: Tasty" (Chapter 3)

 

Trust and . . . Choose "Visitor: Toady" (Chapter 4)


	2. Visitor:  Dandy

Kashyk was watching her, his lips half-curved toward a smile. Kathryn knew that he was waiting to take his cue from her, waiting to see what she wanted. 

But what _did_ she want? 

She filled her mouth with champagne and let the cold explosiveness of it overwhelm her. Swallowing slowly, she felt the chill of the wine seep down until it met and merged with the heat that had been building in her ever since she had entered the holodeck, heat that had never fully left her since Kashyk had chosen to stay on Voyager. Had chosen to stay with her. 

She glanced again toward the shadowy figure outside. "I think we have a caller," she said. 

Kashyk smiled broadly as he walked to the French doors. "Let's see who it is, shall we?" 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Into the soft light of the room stepped Tom Paris. 

He stood regarding them solemnly, managing to look both abashed and avid. Kathryn felt like raising her glass in a toast to Kashyk as she took in Tom's outfit -- vaguely Regency, vaguely dandyish. A cut-away blue coat, figured waistcoat, black boots, and tight cream-colored breeches. Around his neck a cravat was loosely knotted, and Kathryn was slightly embarrassed by how badly she suddenly wanted to untie it. 

Instead, striving for equilibrium, she murmured to Kashyk, "You know, we shouldn't be using people's images in the holodeck without their permission. Tom might object." 

The dandy before her bowed and took her hand. "I can assure you, Captain, that Tom won't mind." He kissed the inside of her wrist and the bend of her elbow. "At all." 

The presence of Tom made Kathryn a little dizzy. Until Kashyk had come, Paris had been her secret, middle-of-the-night fantasy. 

"I can delete Mr. Paris's program if you have ethical objections, Captain," Kashyk offered. Tom said nothing; he merely reached out and touched her face. 

Kathryn tried without success to slow her breathing. This room. This program. These men. 

These men. She turned her mouth into Tom's hand and ran her tongue along his palm. "No. We'll keep him." 

Tom stepped backward abruptly, the slight bulge in his breeches warring with the confusion on his face. Kathryn was impressed by Kashyk's perceptiveness; he had programmed exactly the blend of boldness and unexpected diffidence that made Tom Paris so appealing. Truly, the program was. . .very realistic. 

Kashyk took Tom's arm and drew him back into their circle. "A beautiful woman wants you, Mr. Paris," he said lightly. "Would you dare disappoint her?" 

Finally overcome by the need to touch him, Kathryn put her hand on Kashyk's shoulder. The truth was, she wanted both of them. She had never made love to more than one person at a time. The strength of her desire to do so now left her a bit shaken. 

Kashyk seemed to feel her heat. He leaned down and kissed her quickly. "All in good time, Kathryn. We have the whole evening ahead of us. Computer, begin program Kashyk Two." 

Instantly the room was filled with elegantly-dressed couples, the men in breeches, the women in high-waisted, low-necked gowns. Mingling with their well-bred voices were the strains of a string quartet. Mozart, Kathryn thought. Light and clear. 

The couples were lining up on either side of the room. Once again, Tom Paris bowed over her hand. "Dance?" he asked and swept her into position. 

Kathryn didn't know the steps, but it didn't matter. Everything was controlled and restrained--step forward, step back, brush hands, bow, turn. She simply followed along as she was handed down the line from one dancer to another. 

Each time the rotation of the dance deposited her opposite Tom or Kashyk, she found it more difficult to maintain the necessary polite space between them. She would never have imagined that the mere touch of fingertips could be so erotic. When the music ended, leaving her with her hand in Tom's, she was so aroused that she could have dropped to the floor and had them both right there. 

Kashyk must have stopped the dance program, because suddenly only he and Tom were left in the room. Tom pulled Kathryn close to him. His eyes met hers, but in their depths was none of his usual irony or distance. Only a question. "May I take you upstairs, Kathryn?" he whispered just audibly. 

In answer, she touched her lips to his and opened her mouth. Tom's kiss was fierce as he locked one hand on her neck and the other around her waist and pressed his erection full against her. 

Kashyk joined them. Arms entwined, they climbed the broad staircase together. 

In the bedroom, Kathryn was aware, dimly, of Kashyk retreating to a small sofa in the corner. And then Tom was guiding her to the pristine white bed, lowering her into its softness. She could see the edges of her dress making an inky pool against the sheets and duvet. Sinking back, she relished the buttery feel of the velvet against her bare arms. She smiled at Tom and moved her hands slowly along the nap. 

His breathing quickened as she stroked her breasts through the material and moved down to her stomach. When she reached her thighs, Tom joined in the stroking. Kathryn moaned softly at the added pressure of his hands. 

He began to undo the intricate fastenings at the front of the dress. As he finished each one, he left it closed, waiting until all were undone and Kathryn was almost writhing before he opened the soft velvet folds. 

She was pleased when he drew in his breath in surprise. Her underwear, what little there was of it, was scarlet. Skimpy, silky, and scarlet. Tom ran his finger along the edge of the bra and then suddenly drew back. "Captain," he said quietly. "I'm sorry. I can't do this." 

Kathryn reached up and slowly pulled the end of his tie. Then she took his face in her hands. "Oh, yes, you can," she breathed, looking directly into his eyes. "Tom." 

She began to undress him in earnest, and he yielded. Kathryn drew her nails lightly along his skin as she removed each piece of clothing and tantalized them both by brushing her silk-clad breasts against him. When she was finished, she lay back. Tom pulled roughly on the wispy red panties. "God, Kathryn," he groaned. "I want. . ." 

He stopped again, but this time, instead of moving away, he pressed the length of his body against hers and whispered in her ear, "I think he'd like to see you." 

Of course he would, Kathryn realized, and she wanted him to. Shifting from under Tom, she rose to her hands and knees. Tom moved behind her, holding her hips, and without warning pushed himself fully into her. Kathryn gasped and reared back, almost upright. Tom wrapped his arms around her, cupping her breasts and nuzzling her neck before letting her drop down again. 

When she settled, he began pumping with long, rhythmic strokes. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Kashyk still clutched his champagne glass, but he had long since forgotten it. He wondered briefly at himself. He had written his program with this sort of scene in mind, but. . .he had expected, even perversely hoped, to feel at least a twinge of doubt, maybe just a little turn of the stomach. Tom was only a hologram, true, but still, here was the woman for whom Kashyk had changed his life -- and she was moaning with the pleasure of being fucked by someone else.

Yet all he felt was a hard, breathless exhilaration at the picture in front of him: Tom tall and straight, lamplight gleaming off his shoulders and golden hair, his face intense as he penetrated Kathryn slowly and deeply. And Kathryn, rocking her body to Tom's rhythm, her neck arched, her eyes closed, her breasts still partially concealed by scarlet silk. Just the sight of the red straps on her shoulders excited Kashyk. Somehow so much more arousing than nakedness. Was there any other woman who would understand that? 

Kathryn opened her eyes and looked at him, her yearning clear. Kashyk knew that she wanted him to join them, and it took all his will not to. 

But he needed to maintain a distance, let her feel her lack of him. It was something that Kathryn understood perfectly -- the presence of absence. He wanted to keep her hungry, as she kept him during every minute of the long hours she spent away from him. 

She was sucking Tom's fingers now and crying out softly and using one hand to stroke her breasts. 

"Bored with you?" Kashyk whispered toward her. "My dear, I can't even imagine it." 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Kathryn could feel Tom's pace change, grow faster and more powerful. He was going to come soon, and she almost shivered in anticipation. She wanted him to pound into her, to carry her over the edge with him. Even as the idea occurred to her, Tom brought his hand between her legs, teasing her as he thrust harder and harder. Then he was convulsing and nearly shouting, and she moved beyond thought into pure sensation as her own orgasm surged through her. 

When her mind surfaced again, she was lying face down on the bed, Tom on top of her, holding her tightly. "Kathryn," he said. She began to turn over, but he stopped her. "No. . .it's time for me to leave now. Kashyk is here for you." He kissed her shoulder and got up, gathering his clothes. 

Kashyk came and sat next to her on the bed. She turned her head to look at him, wanting him desperately. 

Tom stood at the door, wearing his breeches, the rest of his things bundled in his arms. 

"Mr. Paris, it's been quite an evening," Kashyk said. "But I think your part in it is complete. Computer, delete. . ." 

"Wait," Kathryn said. "It's silly, but. . .I want him just to walk downstairs and out into the moonlight. Please." 

Kashyk smoothed her hair. "Of course. Whatever you wish. Computer, autodelete Mr. Paris in sixty seconds. Good night, sir." 

Before Tom had taken even a few steps, Kashyk had Kathryn in his arms, his mouth on her throat, his fingers caressing red silk. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Outside the house, the figure of Tom Paris stepped toward the edge of the moonlit garden. 

"Computer," he whispered. "Arch." 

He slipped out into the corridor of Voyager. In two further steps and one twist of a hatch, he was in a Jeffries tube, hastily donning the uniform he had hidden there earlier. 

He wasn't quite sure what had just happened to him. When Kashyk had first asked his help in creating his holoprogram, Tom had believed him when he said that he was trying to learn a little about old Earth. 

But it quickly became clear what the program was for; Tom had too much experience not to recognize the genre. Just to be sure, he had gone back, without Kashyk's knowledge, and run the full, finished version. His own image stunned him. His first thought was to confront Kashyk, but then he realized that he felt more interested than angry. And his presence in the program made him begin to think that perhaps the Captain wouldn't mind if. . . . 

Still, at that time, he had had no intention of horning in. Even when he had replicated his costume, he had told himself that he planned only to borrow the program later, for his own use. In the end, though, the temptation had been too strong. 

He had wanted the Captain for years, had turned her into his hot, middle-of-the-night fantasy. So despite the risks -- well, in truth, partly because of them -- he hadn't been able to let himself miss what would certainly be his only chance. He quieted his doubts by assuring himself that no one would be hurt, especially not the Captain. He'd make sure of it. He could easily fit into the program, and he could mask his DNA. The Captain and Kashyk would never know. No one would. 

He had been crazy, and he had done it, and it had been wonderful and terrifying. 

Wonderful, because she had been so tight and eager and responsive and beautiful. 

Terrifying, because. . .she had looked intently into his eyes. She had slowly and deliberately called him "Tom." And she had arranged his chance to escape before Kashyk could find out the truth. 

She knew he was no hologram. 

She knew.


	3. Visitor: Tasty

Kashyk stood watching her, half-smiling. Kathryn saw that he expected her to be shocked, or at least surprised. Well, it was time to shake him up at bit. She took a long sip of champagne and kissed him lightly, leaving the taste of wine on his mouth. Then she licked his lips slowly. "Our partner is here," she said. "Aren't you going to invite him in?" 

Kashyk smiled fully and went to the door. 

Into the soft light of the room stepped Seven of Nine.

She was dressed in a gown of gold velvet and satin that matched her hair and the glow of the lamps. The draped bodice left her shoulders bare, and the skirt tumbled to the floor in shimmering waves that were caught up behind her waist in the slightest of bustles. A gold and pearl comb fastened her hair. 

"Good evening, Captain. Kashyk," she nodded. 

Point to you, Kashyk, thought Kathryn. He _had_ surprised her, after all, although she didn't plan to show it. "Seven, you look wonderful," she said. "Like a fairy tale." 

"Thank you, Captain. I hope the dress is appropriate. Kashyk merely said 'formal and old-fashioned.'" 

"It's perfect," said Kashyk. 

Seven continued, "I considered asking the Doctor's opinion, but lately I have been thinking that perhaps I have learned as much as the Doctor can teach on the subject of acceptable social behavior." 

She's nervous, Kathryn realized suddenly, glancing sharply at Kashyk. His program of Seven seemed too thorough. How had he known about her lessons with the Doctor? 

"Will you excuse us for a moment, Seven?" Kathryn asked. "Take a look around; it's a very nice holoprogram." 

She pulled Kashyk through the nearest doorway. "She's not a hologram, is she?" 

"No," he replied easily. 

Kathryn was angry. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing? If you feel the need to fuck two women at once, fine. I'll be one of them. But you're going to have to find a hologram to be the other. You're the one who's so fascinated by the technology. I mean it. I won't have you indulging your fantasies at Seven's expense." 

"Kathryn!" He held her shoulders until her glare faded. "I told you the other night -- I don't want someone else. I don't want Seven. I want you. Only you."

"Then why is Seven here?"

" _You_ want her."

"I don't. . ."

"Yes, you do. You just don't think you should. I know the look, Kathryn, that hungry look. She has it, too. I've seen how her eyes follow you, how her mouth tightens when she sees us together."

Kathryn didn't bother with further denials. "And now what? You've kindly arranged a chance for me to seduce her and then drop her again, so she can feel even worse?" 

"I've arranged dinner. That's all. Just dinner. What -- if anything -- happens after dinner is completely up to you and Seven. Maybe you'll have a long talk. Maybe you'll take each other to bed. Maybe she'll leave, and I'll take you to bed. I don't know. But I want you to have the chance to settle things. For your sake. And hers. And mine."

"I never. . ."

"No," he agreed. "You never suggest that you're not happy with me or that you'd rather be with Seven or anyone else." He held her to him. "I'm not planning on giving you up, Kathryn. I just don't want you to have any regrets."

Kathryn shook her head, half-laughing. "Oh, Kashyk, the Delta Quadrant is all about regrets." She paused, her eyes far away. Finally she said, "All right. Let's have dinner. The three of us." 

Out in the main room, Seven was just coming in from the terrace. "You are correct, Captain," she said. "It is a nice program. Is it like Earth?" 

"A little like Earth, a little like Devore," answered Kashyk. "I've learned that both our planets have their soft places." He continued with deliberate cheerfulness, "I hope you've brought an appetite; I've planned quite an elaborate dinner. I fear I'm going to eating in the mess hall for months." 

In response to his command to the computer, a polished table appeared, set with damask and cut glass and orderly rows of silverware. Three chairs clustered cozily at one end. Candles gleamed in heavy, twisted silver holders, sending light sparkling off glasses already filled with wine and off the jewels in Seven's hair. 

They sat down. Kathryn realized that she had no plans, no sense of where to go from here. As Captain, she always had to be looking ahead, anticipating, assessing, gauging, evaluating. It had been so long since she had _not_ done so that she felt adrift, almost frightened. And free. She waited to see what would happen next. 

Dinner happened. "Elaborate" didn't begin to describe it. Holographic liveried footmen served course after course, each one a visual as well as edible feast. Turtle soup ladled from an ornate tureen, poached fish surrounded by cress and molded aspic, roasted fowl in a rich sauce, game pie with a crust shaped into intricate leaves and vines. Turquoise and magenta Devoran fruits, sharp and bitter and sweet. A pyramid of pastry encased in a spun-sugar cage and dotted with candied violets. Accompanying each course were wines that Kathryn found hard to believe were replicated. 

Kashyk kept the conversation light and flowing. He proved to be quite the raconteur, recounting tales from Devoran myth and history, offering amusing accounts of his attempts to understand the oddities of Earth's culture. 

Seven gradually relaxed, her diction becoming less clipped, her subtle humor surfacing. Several times she smiled spontaneously, and at one point, she even laughed. She seemed different, somehow, Kathryn thought. Then it came to her: Seven wasn't treating the dinner with her usual analytic intensity, as some sort of exercise in ethnography. She was simply enjoying, participating. Living. 

Only once did Kathryn witness the tell-tale tightening of Seven's lips that Kashyk had described. He had leaned over to slip a morsel of meat into Kathryn's mouth, and she had surreptitiously licked his fingers. 

The quick flash of pain that crossed Seven's face made Kathryn suddenly sure that this evening was a mistake. She didn't want to hurt Seven. And she didn't want to let herself think about what it would be like to lick Seven's fingers. Yet she wasn't sure how she could avoid either. 

She thought about rising and ending the party, before they took any irrevocable steps. But when she looked at Kashyk and Seven, at the play of candlelight across their faces, she couldn't seem to remember how to stand up. Didn't care to remember. 

So she sat back and gave herself over to the flavors of the dinner and the pleasures of the company and the exercise of her considerable skill at personal evasion. There were no further intimate moments with Kashyk. 

At last the footmen cleared away the final course and stood waiting. "Coffee?" asked Kashyk, looking at Kathryn. 

Seven spoke up. "Actually, I wondered, Captain. . ." her voice faltered, so uncharacteristically that both Kathryn and Kashyk looked at her in surprise. She continued, more firmly, "I wondered if you'd like to walk in the garden, Captain. And Kashyk, too, of course." 

"Oh, I'm afraid I don't feel able to move," said Kashyk, leaning back in his chair. "In any case, the database says it's customary for a gentleman to remain behind with cigars and port. But please. . .don't let me hinder you." 

Seven went out onto the terrace. Kathryn followed, slowly. At the door, she turned to look back at Kashyk. He smiled, his expression kind, but with a hint of something unnamed. She was sure he understood as fully as she did that, no matter how this evening turned out, it would be hard to avoid regrets. 

She and Seven walked in silence. Outside, away from the house and from Kashyk, Kathryn felt some reality returning. What was she doing? She was a Starfleet captain, for god's sake, and she knew better than anyone the dangers of putting that aside for even one night. She stopped, her hand on Seven's arm. "Seven, I. . ." she began. 

"Captain," interrupted Seven. "I want to go to bed with you." 

Even after two years, Kathryn could still be left breathless by Seven's directness. 

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Seven. I'm your commanding officer. . ." 

"I understand about command, Captain. I did not before, but I do now. You are my captain; that means you cannot always be my friend. That is what you said." 

"Exactly, and I. . ." 

"'Cannot always' means 'can sometimes.' Can sometimes be a captain _and_ a friend. I am not asking for 'always.' What is 'always' is that you will always be the Captain. That is your designation." Seven smiled at the word, her expression slightly impish. "But you can sometimes be more. Here on the holodeck, for instance." 

"No. . ." 

"Yes. When Kashyk asked me to dinner, I nearly declined. I was not certain what he wanted of me, and I. . .I did not wish to see you with him. But then he said it would be a gift to you, a fantasy evening. And I thought, it could happen that way. In the holodeck. In a fantasy. Fantasy has nothing to do with command." 

"Seven. Stop," Kathryn ordered. "It would be wrong, fantasy or not. We are the same people, in or out of the holodeck. Take my word for it; you aren't experienced enough to know. . ." 

Seven's eyes flashed. "Nor will I ever be if you continue to make my choices for me. Stop protecting me." 

Kathryn couldn't stop herself from touching Seven's cheek. "But that's what a captain does. Protects her people." 

"Captains also trust their people. And captains take risks. I do not wish to plead, so I will say nothing more. You know what I want. Now you must make your choice." 

Kathryn closed her eyes and thought about regrets, about things she had not done and had not been and about people she had not protected and about love she had not made. She looked at Seven and held out her hands. 

"A fantasy," she said. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Kashyk watched them walk together up the stairs, hand in hand. They did not look toward him.

His port glowed in the candlelight as he sipped it. He had told Kathryn the truth. He did not feel threatened; he believed she wanted to be with him. But he had taken a chance, he knew. A high-stakes gamble. He could lose her. 

Would he undo the evening, take it back, if he could? 

He listened to their quiet voices and later, to Kathryn's soft moans. 

No, he thought, sipping and listening. No. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The lights in the bedroom had been dimmed. Seven began removing the pearls from her hair. "I should tell you, Captain. I have the knowledge of the collective, but. . .I have never been with anyone before." 

"And I've never been with a woman," replied Kathryn. "Except in fantasy." 

They undressed each other slowly, taking time to explore, to become accustomed to the touch and feel of another woman. After they finally lay down on the bed, Seven continued to stroke Kathryn's body gently. Kathryn stretched on the cool sheets, enjoying the unhurried pace, content, for the moment, to let Seven take the initiative. 

Then Seven eased her onto her side and lay facing her, pressing their breasts together. 

Kathryn gasped with surprise and pleasure. Part of what had always made sex so enjoyable for her was the contrast between softness and hardness, the give of slickness against the sharp, welcome rigidity of penetration. 

She had never imagined the erotic charge of softness against softness, the delicious weight of another woman's naked breasts on her own, nipples touching and hardening together with a hardness so different from what she was used to - so precise, so enticingly female. "Oh, Seven," she whispered, tracing the curve of Seven's breast with her fingertips. 

They kissed tentatively, then fiercely. Almost overwhelmed, Kathryn dropped back, needing to breathe, to contain herself. But then Seven moved her hand between Kathryn's legs, stroking, rubbing, teasing. As much as she loved to feel Kashyk's thickness filling her, Kathryn found that she loved the light suppleness of Seven's darting fingers. She felt suffused by a hot sweetness that gradually sharpened into a focused, explosive flash. 

Seven had raised herself onto her elbow, and Kathryn felt the orgasm even more intensely for knowing that Seven was watching her as she came. 

When at last she could open her eyes, she saw Seven still looking at her, smiling slightly. "I want you to taste me now, Captain," she demanded. Her tone intrigued Kathryn. It was as if she were hearing herself: the commander commanded. 

"Please, taste me," Seven said again. Kathryn laughed softly. "That is the theme for this evening, isn't it?" she answered. 

Moving between Seven's legs, she touched her gently with her tongue, neither of them quite knowing what to expect. The uncertainty of it excited Kathryn, making her feel both protective and dangerous at once. Using Seven's gasps as a guide to what she wanted, Kathryn gradually increased her tempo and her confidence, until Seven was rocking rhythmically, crying out quietly. 

When she seemed close to the edge, Kathryn moved back and began to stroke with her fingers. She wanted to watch Seven now, wanted to see her as she experienced this basic human sensation for the first time at hands other than her own. Kathryn knew she couldn't feel Seven's mind, but she could read her face, as Seven had read hers. They would be a collective of two. 

Seven's lips parted and her eyes closed as her hips rose from the bed. "Captain!" she cried, and the word seemed to Kathryn the most beautiful of endearments. 

They lay silently together for several minutes. Then Seven began to kiss Kathryn's face lightly. It was not a sexual gesture; she seemed rather to want only to imprint herself, to leave something behind. Too soon she said, "Captain. I know that after tonight we will not be on the holodeck. But it has been enough. This fantasy." 

She got up. Kathryn listened as she slipped into her dress, walked down the steps, bid Kashyk a calm goodbye. 

It was enough, Kathryn thought. Her regrets would at least be for something done rather than something not done. But at the moment, she felt only closure and contentment and a growing desire to be with Kashyk. She put on the dress he fancied and prepared to go downstairs. 

Yes. It was enough. But perhaps it would not be all. 

Because 'cannot always' meant 'can sometimes.'


	4. Visitor: Toady

Kathryn flashed a glance at Kashyk, and he was gratified to see that she was startled. "You're bored with me," she had said. But the uncomfortable truth was that he had more to fear from her boredom than she did from his. He tried not to dwell on how little time she spent with him, but it worried him. The problem was not just his position on Voyager, precarious though that still was. It was the growing desolation he felt at her absence. 

This program was his reassurance to her, his promise that she did not bore him and that he would not bore her. And it was his reassurance to himself, his demonstration that he could -- would -- find ways to balance them, to make himself as necessary to her as she had become to him. She might be the master of his fate, but he would be the captain of her soul. 

He waited to see what she would do. 

She closed her eyes and took a long drink of champagne. Then she turned to him. "I think we have a caller," she said. 

Kashyk smiled and moved toward the French doors. "Let's see who it is, shall we?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Into the soft light of the room stepped Prax. 

When he had been outside, the setting sun had turned his white hair golden. But now no glow surrounded him. He looked stiff and incongruous in the elegant room, his Devoran uniform a stark reminder of tension and fear. The champagne glass in his hand was as out of place as jewels on a corpse. 

Kathryn looked at Kashyk, her eyes opaque. "You want us -- me -- to have sex with a hologram of Prax?" 

"Would you, if I asked?" 

It excited Kashyk to realize that he could not predict how she would answer. 

But he preferred to leave the question unresolved for now. "Never mind," he said. "I have other duties in mind for Prax. But I do ask you to try to trust him as I do. He was my Chakotay, you know." 

He chuckled at her look of skepticism. "Oh, yes. Loyal to me. There for me. Always. Even when he thought I was crazy. Is that not your Chakotay?" 

Kathryn smiled and stroked his arm. "Chakotay thinks I'm crazy now." Then she nodded. "All right." 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Kashyk began exchanging cultured pleasantries. "Good evening, Prax. You remember Captain Janeway?" 

"Captain," said Prax expressionlessly. 

"Hello, Prax," replied Kathryn, feeling odd. In some ways Prax had been a comic figure even during the worst moments of the Devoran inspections. He had seemed almost like a hologram then, impossibly rigid and unchangeable, as if he had been given too few personality subroutines. But she had known that in other ways he was not at all amusing. 

Conversation faltered. In almost six years on Voyager, Kathryn Janeway had faced some of the toughest diplomatic missions of her career, yet none of them had seemed quite as awkward as this. She felt again as she had during the inspections -- tensed, charged, all her senses heightened. 

Kashyk reached over and took the champagne from her hand, placing it on the small table on which Prax had already put his own glass, the wine in it untouched. Moving behind Kathryn, Kashyk wrapped his arms around her and spoke in her ear. "Trust, Kathryn. It's all we have. Let me earn more of yours tonight." 

She felt her body respond even as she tried to sort out the implications of his having chosen Prax as his messenger of trust. The presence of Prax unsettled her. 

But then Kashyk unsettled her; that was part of his allure. 

She reminded herself that Prax was merely a hologram. And that she had never shown Kashyk how to disable the safety protocols or otherwise reconfigure the holodeck controls. 

Kashyk turned her toward him, touching the waves of her hair. The brush of his mouth on hers was feather-light; then he ran his tongue quickly over her lips. His fingers stroked the skin under her ears and along her throat. 

Kathryn was nearly panting, Prax all but forgotten. Kashyk wound his hands into her hair and kissed her deeply. "Kathryn?" he whispered. "Give me program control?" 

"I. . ." That would mean she could leave the program only by requesting an emergency beam-out. 

"Please," he said, his voice urgent. Kathryn kissed him back, marveling at how he could surprise her. His request was damned erotic. And crazy. And impossible. She said, 

"Computer, transfer program control to Kashyk alpha. Authorization Janeway beta one."

No sooner had the computer agreed than Kathryn felt her arms grabbed from behind by Prax. He folded them against her back and held them there, impervious to her instinctive struggle. 

"It's all right, Kathryn; it's all right," said Kashyk. "I told you. Trust me." He cupped her chin and said again, quietly, "trust me." 

Slowly she nodded. She would. She had to, wanted to. For now. 

Just as slowly, Kashyk kissed her again, biting her lip, flicking his tongue into her mouth until she whimpered softly. Stepping back, smiling, he smoothed his hands down the velvet of her dress. 

His touch on her breasts was electric. The soft dress was lined with a satiny material that caressed her every time it moved. Kashyk had not provided any underthings -- "I'm hoping you won't need them," he had told her, laughing. She felt the cool lining down the length of her body, and the contrast between it and the warmth of Kashyk's hands made her weak. 

Gently, he slid one hand through the deep slit at the side of the dress, drawing his fingers up and down the back of her thigh, pinching lightly, then harder. "Oh, god. . .please," Kathryn gasped, willing him to move higher, to stroke her, enter her. But he kept his hand just below the top of her leg, provokingly out of reach, fingers teasing her inner thigh. She was frustrated and tantalized, wanting to do anything other than the only thing she could do. Which was trust him. 

With his other hand, Kashyk continued to knead her breast until the friction of the satin was like welcome fire. He lowered his mouth to hers once more, and Kathryn felt her hips begin to move as the fire spread. She had never before reached orgasm without direct stimulation, but now she was coming, hard, crying out into Kashyk's mouth and bucking back against the wall that was the silent Prax. She might have fallen if not for Prax's inexorable hold. 

Kashyk brought his hands to her face and kissed her forehead and eyelids. Then he reached down and drew her dress up over her hips, the velvet bunching softly around her. "Prax," he murmured. 

Without a word, Prax released Kathryn's arms and slid his hands down her body and the back of her legs till he reached her knees. Then he raised her from the floor into a sitting position against him and spread her legs wide. He stood stolidly, his breathing never changing, his muscles never so much as quivering as he bore her weight. 

Kashyk undid his trousers and stepped between her legs. "You see, Prax has his uses, Kathryn," he said, rubbing against her. "He can stand it no matter how. . .rambunctious things become." 

For a moment, Kathryn felt the alienness of the two looming men. It was threatening; it was dangerous; oh, god, it was exciting. Kashyk continued to move against her and whispered, "Tell me how you want it. . .slow? hard? Tell me. . ." 

By this time she didn't care; she just wanted him inside her. "Now, Kashyk, I want it now." 

With his hands on her waist, he entered her slowly, still speaking softly. "Prax will hold you while I fuck you, Kathryn, we have you, we won't let you fall, you'll see, just let me fuck you, trust me. . ." He began to thrust harder, thudding her against Prax. Kathryn found his voice and scent and hardness merging, overpowering her with a single throbbing pleasure. She moved with him, moaning. When he brought one hand under the dress and squeezed her breast, she flung her head back onto Prax's chest and almost cried. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Kashyk looked down at her face. Damp tendrils of hair curled on her cheek. Her pale skin and delicate earrings stood out against the harsh military functionality of Prax's uniform. She looked lovely and even fragile; Kashyk felt wracked by desire even as he fulfilled it. He knew the fragility was largely but not completely an illusion; he wanted to protect her and rule her, yet he also wanted to feel surrounded by her strength, to be enfolded in her fierce determination to save every person and every thing she commanded. He wanted. . .to come inside her, and then he was coming, digging the fingers of one hand into Prax's shoulder as he slammed into Kathryn and shouted out in half-forgotten Devoran. 

Prax never moved. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Kathryn drew a shuddering breath as Kashyk stepped back from her. Prax lowered her feet to the floor, and she felt the hem of her dress settle around her ankles. Pulling away from Prax, she turned to look at him, hoping to see, and almost fearing to see, what drew Kashyk to him. It had to be more than simple loyalty. But all that met her eyes was the blankness of the perfect holographic subordinate. 

Yet she had felt his powerful erection pressing against her as he held her. 

He looked back at her, still expressionless. His second word of the evening was the same as his first. "Captain," he said. 

Kashyk clapped him on the shoulder. "Prax, old man. You've discharged your duties admirably as always. Dismissed. Computer, delete character." 

Suddenly Prax was gone, and Kashyk was staring at the place where he'd been. 

Kathryn felt unsettled again, by Kashyk's need for Prax, by her own craving for Kashyk, by her sudden, sad conviction that she would never really know him. 

"You miss Prax," she said.

"Sometimes. Not often." Kashyk took her in his arms, warming her. He stood quietly for a moment, looking out at the lawn. Then he laughed and said lightly, "What did you think of my little entertainment?" 

She smiled back, wanting to match his mood. "Two things come to mind at the moment. One: I hate to disappoint you, but my Chakotay doesn't have any duties quite like your Prax's. And two: we still haven't used the bed." 

Kashyk became serious again. "I'd like to ask something of you, Kathryn. About the bed." 

"Ask." 

"Sleep there with me tonight. Just sleep. I want to spend the whole night with you. This once." 

Kathryn touched her palm to his face and led him toward the stairs. 

On the bed, soft nightclothes had been laid out for both of them. They helped each other change and then climbed beneath the sheets and cancelled the lights. 

"You're lonely here," Kathryn half-asked, half-stated. 

Kashyk spooned her to him and nestled his face in her hair. "Not tonight." 

Moonlight streamed through the open windows. The breeze billowed the draperies and brought again the smells of grass and night.


End file.
